Red
by WizardofBio
Summary: Jean is afraid. Deathly afraid. Of what? His boyfriend, Marco. Why? Because it's their one year anniversary and Jean has no idea what he is going to get him.


Jean Kirschstein is not one for sentimentality; he never has been. But Marco Bodt is, and if Marco thinks that something is special, so does Jean.

So what could Jean get his lovely, freckled boyfriend? It had to be special, something that Marco would never forget. But it had to be cheap, too. College was definitely **not** easy to pay for, especially not when Jean just got fired from his job at the pizza shop.

"Goddamnit, Marco, why can't I just buy you something easy?" Jean moaned, walking down the short candy aisle at the 24/7 Snack-Mart.

Marco loved Milky Way bars. But that would be a cop-out of a gift. Could Jean just throw together a bouquet of candy?

_100 Grands. Kit-Kats. Skittles._

"No, Marco's worth more candy than I could ever buy," Jean sighed, rubbing his face.

Jean walked around the corner, ignoring a small display of fruity perfumes. Marco may have been a little soft, but he was not '_Pretty Perfect Pear-fume'_ soft._  
_

_Cinnamon Spice. Apple Crisp. Hollyberry._

Jean thought about the many things that Marco had gotten him for their different 'special' anniversaries.

At the one-week anniversary, Marco had gotten him a necklace. It was a simple brown cord with one red bead on it, but Jean still hadn't taken it off. Sure, it was, after 51 weeks, a tattered, faded necklace, the bead worn down to be a light peach color, but it was the one thing that Jean would never get rid of. Sentimentality be damned, he just liked it.

After a month, Marco had given himself to Jean. For many people, that would have been early, but the two had known each other for a year before they officially started dating. And there had always been this bond between them, like they had known each other for hundreds of years. So that night, Marco had given Jean something he had always wanted, but would never think of asking for.

Each month afterwards, Marco had given Jean something red. Marco said that red symbolized true love, or some romantic shit like that. There was a bouquet of red roses, a brand new, custom-made red Xbox controller, there was even some _special scarlet underwear_ that Marco had worn for their 11-month anniversary. The last one had definitely been enjoyable for Jean.

So that meant that Marco had to have something big planned for tonight. And is Jean showed up with a lousy bunch of candy bars, Marco might just abstain from the night's activities. And that would definitely be enough to ruin Jean's weekend.

Jean sighed and stopped in front of the tiny refrigerator of flowers. There were yellow daisies, and white lilies, and even pink and fucking purple roses, but there was not a single red flower in the stupid box.

"Marco's not gonna like this..." Jean grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

His eyes darted around the store, searching for red, for scarlet, for carmine. Even a dark orange could pass if Jean really tried. But it was all wrappers, or labels of cheap crap.

_50% off. Santa's hat. Rubber bouncy balls._

The most expensive thing in the store was probably the security cameras at the front entrance, and even those looked pretty cheap.

Jean let out a frustrated growl, feeling his already limited patience deteriorate. He shouldn't have waited until now to look. Any time before would have been better.

"Goddamnit, what am I going to do?" Jean hissed, stomping towards the exit.

"Wait, sir, are you sure you don;t want to buy anything?" the young clerk called after him, leaning over the counter, "We have great sales on keychains!"

"Fuck off!" Jean growled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He let out a deep breath, knowing that getting angry would only further ruin the night.

It was not completely dark out yet, but the skies were light gray, with streaks of orange-red clouds painted on the sky. The tops of the red-brick university buildings glowed burning scarlet, the normal maroon colors replaced by the almost magical shine.

Jean sighed, feeling any hope of being a decent boyfriend escape his mind. He looked around, trying to find anything even remotely romantic.

_Fire hydrant. Fire escape. Red brick._

The street lights were flickering on and off, their light sensors confused by the bright darkness. The sidewalk switched from tan to gray, tan to gray, tan to gray.

Jean rolled his eyes. Of course, the one night that he needed everything to go well, the world decided to flip its shit.

"C'mon, even Jaeger had better luck with Mikasa when he had to buy her a gift!" Jean growled, thinking of the red scarf Mikasa wore everywhere.

It seemed like everyone else could find their perfect red, everyone but Jean.

Jean looked down the street, hoping to see a club selling roses, or an old woman selling knitted clothing. Nothing. Just an empty sidewalk, empty streets, still, silent store signs.

Jean passed the campus spa, and wondered why on Earth they even had a spa. It's not like they were there to be beautiful. Well, maybe some people were. But Jean was there to get a degree, just to get his parents of his back. Marco was there to get his degree in Criminal Justice, of all things.

Jean stopped in his tracks. Would a spa have something red? A vermilion shower cap, a rosy pair of slippers, anything?

Jean chuckled hollowly. "Am I really resorting to thinking of buying him slippers?" he breathed out, shaking his head.

He continued walking, stopping at every store to peek in and search for something crimson.

The bookstore. Closed.

_Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Little Red Riding Hood. House of Hades._

The jewelry store. Too expensive.

_Rubies. Cuprites. Garnets._

The campus clothing store. Sold out, save for a small rack of miscellaneous keepsakes.

_The Fighting Titans, how we bathe in the blood of our opponents._

Nothing, nada, rien.

Jean shook his head, turning down the long street that led to their dorm.

He had to do something, **anything.**

Marco meant the world to him, how could he go home empty handed on their anniversary?

"Goddamnit, Marco, why'd you have to get stuck with a dumbass like me?" Jean muttered, gritting his teeth.

Jean could still remember the exact moment that they met, as well as the exact moment that they started dating. He could remember their first date, how they went to the tiny sushi store and got rancid sushi, ending up nursing each other back to health. He remembered the night that Jean came home to find Marco holding the necklace in his hands, timidly babbling about how he found it in a thrift shop. He remembered the night their two loner souls became one thriving, passionate being. He remembered the night that Marco said he loved Jean, and how Jean had sobbed, overjoyed to have someone who cared about him.

He could remember every single thing that Marco ever did for him, but what had Jean ever did for him? Showed up late? Complained? Wasted his time?

Jean stopped, feeling his feet turn to lead. After 365 blissful days, he had something to admit to himself. he was a burden, a burden to Marco, a burden to everyone, a burden to himself.

"I'm so sorry, Marco," Jean hiccuped, searing tears gathering in his eyes.

Jean broke into a sprint, his breathing becoming erratic and heavy.

He had to fix this, he had to tell Marco that he deserved better. He had to break his own heart.

Jean's feet pounded against the concrete, the thin soles of his shoes slapping against the uneven surface.

_Marco's freckles. Marco's lips. Marco's cheeks._

_Marco. Marco. Marco._

Jean stumbled to a walk, sliding to a halt in front of their dorm building's front door. He fumbled in his pocket for his key card, managing to slide it through and throw the door open. He hurried down the hall, his vision blurred by tears, by pain, by red-hot hatred for himself.

He took the stairs three at a time in a feat of superhuman agility. Floor 4 seemed to be miles away.

Jean burst through the heavy metal door, almost falling onto the hall floor as he did so.

Room 407, Marco's dorm. His dorm. Their dorm.

403. 404. 405.

Time seemed to slow, the door at the end of the hall stretching further and further away.

406.

Jean's heart pounded under the thin green fabric, beating against his ribcage. A cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

407.

Jean took his key out and opened the door, practically hyperventilating as he tried to slow down his heartbeat.

Red blood pounded in his ears, his crimson-tinged vision sharpened suddenly, the scarlet of his flushed cheeks draining as he looked at the sight before him.

_Red. Crimson. Vermilion. Ruby. Scarlet. Wine. Cherry. Carmine._

_Marco._

Jean's heart stopped, his mind going blank.

There he was, his beautiful, perfect boyfriend, sitting on the wood floor. In a red shirt, red jeans, red socks. His freckles glowing red in the dim light. There were red roses surrounding him in heart shape. A red fabric was draped over the futon they used as a bed, with red pillows littered about it.

There was his Marco.

"Jean? Jean, what happened?" Marco said, his beautiful face contorting in fear.

"Marco, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Jean whispered, his breath rushing back into him. He backed up, stumbling out of the doorway.

"Jean, wait, what happened? Are you okay?" Marco asked worriedly, hurrying to him and resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Marco, Marco, I have to go, I need to leave," Jean said panickedly, shaking his head.

Marco knit his brow and pulled Jean back into their dorm, shutting the door.

"Jean, calm down, it's okay," Marco said soothingly.

"No, no, it's not. Marco, I'm awful, I'm hideous, I'm terrible. You need someone better. I don't deserve you."

Marco sighed, running a hand through his short, dark hair. "Jean, please, don't say that-"

"But I am! I forgot to get you present! I always forget! I always disappoint you, I always mess up."

"Jean, please, listen-"

"Marco, I have to let you go, you deserve so much more-"

"Jean Kirschstein, listen to me!" Marco yelled, taking Jean's hands in his, "Jean, you are none of those things. You are perfectly imperfect. You are Jean. My Jean. And you've never disappointed me, Jean. I love you, and nothing will ever change that."

Jean felt his heart swell in his chest. "But Marco, I'm, I forgot to get you a present. Only terrible people do that," he stammered.

"No, Jean, you have given me the best present you ever could give. You have given me a wonderful boyfriend who tells me I'm beautiful, that I'm perfect, that I mean the world to them. You have given me a chance to love someone who loves me back. Jean, you have given me everything I could ever want. Jean, I love you, I love all of you, and that's enough of a present for me for the rest of my life."

Marco gently let go of his wrists, wrapping his arms around Jean's neck.

"Jean, I love you so much that it hurts me to see you like this. You're not perfect, but no one is. You're **my** Jean, and **that** is perfect."

Jean let out a deep sob, clutching to Marco's shoulders and burying his face in Marco's shirt.

"I love you, too Marco. I love you so much, Marco," Jean sobbed, lifting his head slightly to speak.

"Shh.. it's okay. I know, Jean. I've known since the day I met you. I've always loved you. Truly loved you, Jean," Marco sighed happily, rubbing Jean's back.

Ever since Jean had met Marco, he had caught every speck of red in his sight.

Ever since Jean had met Marco, he had caught every speck of true love in his life.

Ever since Jean had met Marco, he had caught every speck of Marco, his perfect, freckled, red-lipped, beautiful Marco.

* * *

**A/N:**

My first SNK fanfic. JeanMarco is taking over my life.


End file.
